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Once Upon a Time in Dahiya: Israel Destroys Lebanese Communities | Israel attacks Lebanon

Once Upon a Time in Dahiya: Israel Destroys Lebanese Communities | Israel attacks Lebanon

Mazen used to own a gift and perfume shop called Mazen Kado (French for “gift”) in Mreya. He lived what he described as a quiet life with his beloved cat Chichi, the star of his TikTok account.

When the bombing began, he sent his family to live elsewhere, but he and Chichi stayed behind. On one of the first days after the bombing began, he went out to buy some things, and while he was away, an airstrike was carried out on his building.

“Chichi was in the building,” he told Al Jazeera. “I tried to cover my face with fire and smoke, but I couldn’t get in and get her out. The building was 10 stories high and collapsed.”

In a video that went viral on his TikTok account, Mazen removes the rubble of his building and sobs loudly, screaming for Chichi. The comments are mostly crying faces or grief emojis.

“Everything is gone,” he told Al Jazeera. “My house is no more… no problem, I’ll buy another house. And over time, everything I had disappeared. No problem.

“What matters to me is whether ChiChi is dead. God willing, she won’t die.”

Mazen did not give up searching for Chichi. On his TikTok account, he still posts videos of his house in ruins and desperately calling out for his missing cat, despite how unlikely it is that Chichi survived.

“I go out searching every day,” he said.

“I stay in Dahiya because I take care of the cats so they don’t die,” he said.

“I sleep on the street. One night I will sleep on the street, one night on the veranda, every night is different.

“I still live a quiet life. I don’t care about any party or sect, I’m Lebanese and I love life, cats and animals.”

@cadeauxmazen24

♬ لوصلك تاقت عيوني وقلبي أناشيد إسلامية – Hamza Budir

The once bustling streets of Dahiya are now largely deserted. Some people return during the day, when they feel air strikes are less likely, to grab clothes or check their homes.

“The situation is a disaster,” Younes said. “Dahiya is gone.”

In 2006, war came to Dahiya again. Hezbollah and Israel fought a 34-day war that killed more than 1,220 people, the vast majority of them Lebanese. Israel destroyed approximately 245 buildings and developed a disproportionate damage tactic called the Dahiyeh Doctrine.

Despite previous wars, Younes’s family continued to grow in Dahiya. But now some family members don’t see a future there.

She said her maternal uncle’s family decided they would not return after the war ended.

“They think that once this is all over, they will sell everything they have in Dahiya and buy something outside the area. Nobody wants this Dahiya anymore.”

Three-year-old Dua Nabu sleeps on a street corner as she waits for her family to decide where to evacuate, along with hundreds of other residents of southern Beirut who are evacuating in anticipation of Israeli airstrikes on August 10, 2006 in Beirut, Lebanon. Thousands of people fled southern areas after Israeli planes dropped leaflets urging residents to evacuate on Thursday. At least 41 people were killed and 61 others were injured on Monday during an Israeli airstrike on the outskirts of Beirut.
Three-year-old Dua Nabu sleeps on a street corner as her family decides where to evacuate in anticipation of Israeli airstrikes on August 10, 2006. (Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

Harb, an AUB urban planner, also grew up in Dahiya but left about 30 years ago. However, just a few weeks ago, her father went to Burj al-Barajneh to buy bread, meat, cheese and labneh.

“He doesn’t do it because there’s no bread or cheese anywhere else. This is because he wants to walk the streets of his childhood and he needs to make this pilgrimage through the small alleys to feel connected to the place and see familiar faces around,” she said.

“This is one example of something that was completely erased from something close to me.”

As for ad-Dirani, she often dreamed of life outside of Dahiya.

“I wanted to leave, but not like this,” she said. “I feel like all my dreams are falling apart.”

“I’m still processing… I’m a little traumatized,” she said, her voice solemn, soft and introspective. “I don’t want to think about what happened because I feel like I’m in a nightmare and I don’t want to wake up because it’s hard to think what I’ll do when I do.”

The good memories of home still exist in the corners of her mind. But for now they are replaced by the horror of the last few weeks and fear or resignation of what may await so many people living through the war in Lebanon.

“I can’t even describe it, but I’m trying to tell you what we went through,” she said, choosing her words deeply.

“We just sit and wait for our day to come. I hate to say this, but we are waiting for the moment when we will be killed, like our relatives and loved ones.”